A Night like any other
by Chapin CSI
Summary: Slash, Gil & Greg. Sequel to A Day Like Any Other. Gil met Greg's parents under embarrassing circumstances, and now he's about to meet them again... For Christmas. Revised version.


A NIGHT LIKE ANY OTHER

Sequel to 'A day like any other', but you don't have to read that story (it needs some serious revision!). All you need to know from that story's that Greg used to have a girlfriend named Cindy or 'Cin,' and that contrary to what the canon says, Greg has sisters.

I'm including the last scene of 'A day…' so you have an idea of what's going on.

* * *

A day like any other 

…_When Greg opened the door, I spoke even before he said 'hello'._

"_I don't want to keep my arms to myself anymore." I mumbled._

_"What?" He was stunned._

_"I love you"_

_"Ok." He said cautiously. I didn't have more to say, so I leant over for a kiss. He tried to say something but after a moment he simply kissed me back. I liked the encouragement so I slowly pushed him inside._

_"I love you." I said between kisses._

_" Me, too. But wait - " he said, stopping in the hallway, "Wait. My pa-" _

_I kissed him again and kept pushing him into the living room. "Grissom, wait" he insisted, "Got to – meet - my parents-"_

_"Yeah._ _Ok, whatever…" I muttered, (hell, at that moment I would have agreed to anything he asked). I slowly kissed his cheek and his neck and smiled when I felt him shiver. It seemed he liked how my beard felt on his skin -good. _

_"Wait-" he gasped, "-they're here"_

_I froze._

_I pulled back and looked at him. He was trying hard not to laugh. I ventured a look over his shoulder and found myself staring back at an elderly couple._

_Greg's parents were gaping at us._

_I quickly released Greg and took a step towards them._

_"Hello, hum, Mr. and Mrs. Sanders," I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. "I'm… I'm…"_

_"Gil Grissom" Greg supplied helpfully. He put his hand on my shoulder and added, "My boyfriend."_

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

'_Gil Grissom... My boyfriend' _

Oh, God.

I cringe whenever I remember the day I met Greg's parents, and the way they looked at me.

Say I'm at my office, or at the morgue, or even at a crime scene; it doesn't matter. Whenever I remember what I said and what I did that day, I close my eyes in embarrassment and bang my head against the nearest surface -the harder, the better.

Unfortunately, I'm not always alone when I do this. People look at me strangely and ask what's going on, and I can't tell them.

I can't even tell Greg.

Like today, for instance. I was standing in front of the bathroom sink mirror when I suddenly remembered. Greg stepped out of the shower just in time to see me banging my head on the mirror.

He didn't seem surprised.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

I glanced at him. He was looking at me with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

"Nothing," I muttered and looked in the mirror again. I'd been trimming my beard before I had that flashback. I picked up my scissors and started again.

"You look good already," Greg said as he walked pass me.

It was his way of telling me that I was taking far too long to get ready for dinner.

Well, that was easy for him to say; he's twenty nine, for God's sake. It didn't take me this long to get ready when I was twenty nine, either.

Besides, it was a special night. Greg kept saying that it was 'a night like any other,' but I knew better. We'd traveled all the way from Nevada to Papa Olaf's home; it was Christmas eve, and I was about to meet the rest of the family.

More importantly, I was about to meet Greg's parents again, and this was my chance to make a better impression.

I looked in the mirror.

I didn't look any younger despite all the grooming. But hey, at least my beard looked symmetrical.

Ah, well.

- - -- - - - - - - - -

I opened a window and took a peek at the garden below. The weather had dropped and the frost made trees and shrubs look as if they were made of glass.

"It's beautiful," I said.

"You should see it in the Spring." Greg replied.

I glanced at him over my shoulder. He had changed into his favorite pair of jeans but seemed to be having trouble with the fly.

"Something wrong?"

"I, hum, think my zipper's stuck." He looked up, "I think I'm gonna need help."

"All right," I said. There was still some daylight streaming from outside, so I motioned him to stand closer to the window.

I hunched down to examine the zipper. It was stuck right in the middle, with quite a lot of fabric caught between the teeth.

"Well?" he asked.

"You should have been more careful -"

"Tell me something I don't know," he scoffed.

"All right," I said without missing a beat, "I have a middle name."

I looked up to assess the result of this revelation. Greg's eyes were open wide.

"A middle name?"

"Yep." I said.

"What is it?"

"Guess."

"Oh, come on -"

I smiled to myself and turned my attention back to the zipper. I cautiously tugged at the handle, careful not to do any drastic movement that might damage the fabric.

"You shouldn't wear this jeans anymore," I said after a moment, "They're too old -"

"So?" he asked, "I like _old_ things."

I paused, wondering if that was a jab at me. I looked at him through narrowed eyes.

He was snickering.

"I think you're putting on weight," I shot back.

"I am not!" he said indignantly. "The problem's with the zipper!"

"Well, whatever the problem is, I think we're gonna have to rip it off."

He was appalled.

"So you're giving up, just like that?" he protested, "Come on. We're scientists; we gotta be able to handle this!" He looked down and considered the situation for a moment, "I think Cin used baby oil whenever she had this problem -" he glanced at me, "Did you pack any lube?"

There he was, talking about 'Cin' again. Greg's former girlfriend remained a touchy subject for me. Greg still talked about her often, with a longing that never failed to annoy the hell out of me. That he missed her take-charge nature more than her love was obvious –and a sort of consolation to me- but even I had to admit that Cindy had made his life easier for him.

Just a few weeks ago we'd been wracking our brains, trying to find a Christmas present for his parents. When I asked him what he'd given them the year before, he was evasive.

"I don't know." He said, "Something in crystal."

"You don't _know_?" I frowned.

He mumbled something and when I pressed him he admitted that Cindy had bought the gift.

"I gave her the money and she bought it." he said.

"Oh." I said.

We were standing in a corner of the mall, not knowing where to go, while people purposefully hurried around –but then, they knew what there were there for, _we_ didn't.

"Well…" I said, "At least we know we shouldn't get them crystal this year."

"Sure, ok," he said impatiently, "But what, then?"

"I don't know," I said, with the sinking feeling that I was not up to this task. _The blind leading the blind_…

We wandered around the mall, without a clue of what to do. At some point, I spoke again. "You know, people who get crystal objects usually keep them in their boxes and never use them."

"How do you know?"

"I've been in so many crime scenes -" I didn't finish. "My point is, we should get them something they'll want to use every day."

"Like sheets?" he scoffed. And then he stopped. "Sheets…" he said, actually considering it.

"Egyptian cotton." I added enticingly, "The finest money can buy-"

"That's it," he said with more enthusiasm, "Great idea, Gil."

We split the cost. They were pricey but I didn't mind the expense. If I had led a normal life, by now I would have already spent thousands trying to get on the good side of my hypothetical in-laws. If I added all the anniversary gifts and Christmas gifts I've never given in 30 years, I'd probably find I've saved a small fortune.

So I was glad that we got the gift. Mostly, I was glad that we'd managed without Cindy.

Which meant I had to find a way to solve Greg's problem with his zipper.

"We don't need lube," I replied morosely. "We'll try something else," I straightened up and motioned him to the bed. "Lie down."

He didn't move.

"What?" I frowned.

He smiled mischievously.

"Shouldn't I take my pants off _before_ getting into bed?"

"Lie down," I said firmly.

"Fine, fine," he said, "Don't get cranky."

He lay down in the middle of the bed and made himself comfortable. He laced his hands under his head and looked up at me.

"Here," he said huskily, "I'm all yours."

I stared down at him.

He looked handsome and appealing... And suddenly it hit me, the fact that yes, he was _mine_.

I gulped.

"What's the matter?" he asked, smiling mischievously.

"Nothing," I said, all business again. I sat beside him and focused on my task. I tugged here and there, easing some of the fabric free.

"It's moving -" I said triumphantly.

He cleared his throat.

"Hum, that's not the zipper, you know." He said sheepishly.

"Yes, it is," I replied.

"I'm serious," he replied, "I mean, do you know how hot it is, to see you so focused on me?" he asked.

I didn't realize until then that I'd been hovering over him, with my face just a few inches away from his crotch. When I looked down I noticed that yes, there was _somethin_g moving down there.

I looked at him. He smiled lazily at me.

"If you hurry," he said, "We can, ahem, play a little game before dinner -"

He didn't have to say it twice.

With renovated energy, I started tugging at the zipper again. I even sat on top of him to get a better look.

"Come on, come on -" I was prompting, when suddenly, the door opened.

It was Greg's mom.

"Greg?" she said as she entered, "I brought you some extra -"

The words died in her throat. She stood frozen in place, looking like a deer about to be smashed by a truck. All she could do was look at me and then look at him.

"Oh, hi, mom," Greg greeted-

She managed a nervous, embarrassed smile.

"Mrs. Sanders -" I started, but didn't finish. I was sitting on top of Greg, pulling at his fly like I couldn't wait to get at him. What could I possibly say that would erase that image from her mind?

"I... hum..." she mumbled. Finally, she seemed to remember what she had come in for. She put the towels on the nearest table, "I'll see you both later!" she said in a high-pitched voice, and then she bolted.

"Oh, shit," I muttered after the door closed. I rolled away from Greg but didn't have the energy to get out of bed. I fell heavily on my back. "Shit, shit -"

Greg was laughing.

"You're blushing, for God's sake -"

"Your mom's gonna think I'm some sort of maniac -" I groaned.

"Oh, relax," he scoffed, "This is nothing compared to the displays we've had to endure from my sisters and their husbands -"

"It's not the same thing."

"Well… Ok, maybe it's not the same thing," he said, sobering up a little, "You're a very private person, in the first place. But hey, if you're worried about my mom, then don't be. She's ok with this."

"Oh, really?" I replied, looking at him. "She's ok with the fact that you're with a man or with the fact that said man is old enough to be your father?"

His eyes opened wide in surprise.

"You're old enough to be my father? And here I thought the grey hair was just a fashion statement!"

I chuckled despite myself. He smiled.

"Look," he said, "The truth is, my mom wasn't thrilled with the guy-guy thing. My dad kinda suspected, but my mom didn't, so -"

"So it must be difficult for her." I said.

"But not as difficult as you might think."

"What about the age difference?"

He chuckled, "Believe me," he said, "That's not a problem around here." He glanced at me, "Just relax, ok?"

We were silent for a moment.

"By the way, your zipper's open." I said.

He looked down.

"Oh. Thanks." he looked up, "So, you wanna have sex?"

_Oh, what the hell_, I thought.

"Yeah." I said. "Just let me close the door."

* * *

THE END… 


End file.
